


Jealousy

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Jealousy, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the prompt: "I'd like to see something where Moran is jealous of one of Moriarty's students. Maybe canon!Moran sees a little of himself in one of the young military men Moriarty tutors. Maybe Ritchieverse!Moran is frustrated when Moriarty neglects him while working on academic things."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy

   His name is Thomas Dudley and Moran hates him. No, _despises_ him. With his blond hair that almost curls into ringlets, green eyes, cut-glass accent, a keen amateur boxer and possessing a deep love of mathematics. The professor’s prized student, and one who seems to like to spend far more time with Moriarty than most; who laughs a bit too enthusiastically at the professor’s small jokes and watches him far too intently (or so Moran thinks) when Moriarty is writing his formulae upon the blackboard, or when he is showing Dudley some diagram in a book.

     Moran is becoming really rather sick of encountering the presumptuous whelp too. He is used to being able to go to Moriarty’s private study between the professor’s classes to report on his latest task or receive instructions about some errand Moriarty needs him to run or even sometimes just to see him, to sit with him while he takes tea or has a bite to eat; sometimes to claim a little kiss and a bit of a fondle (or occasionally more). But lately whenever he goes to see the professor bloody Dudley is always there, either deep in conversation with Moriarty or just leaving with a strange smile on his face, and Moran cannot stand it. He wants to punch the lad in his smug cherubic face, but he cannot. The professor disapproves of Moran’s habit of brawling even in the low dives that Moran has been known to frequent. He is certainly not going to tolerate the colonel getting into a punch-up with his star pupil.

    So Moran simply broods, resenting Dudley even more each time the professor is late for meeting him, occasions on which he knows damned well that that little wretch has sidetracked Moriarty yet again to ask him some question of the kind Moriarty must spend many minutes answering, or to tell him of some new article he has read. Then when Dudley interrupts him and the professor during what Moran had hoped would be a few precious private minutes alone, it is the final straw. Snatching up his hat he marches towards the door, leaving Moriarty staring after him and Dudley still gazing at the professor.

    “Where are you going?” Moriarty calls after the colonel.

    “Out!” Moran snaps. “Gonna get some lunch, seeing as you’re evidently occupied with more important matters!” He shoots a vitriolic look at Dudley before departing.

    “I’m sorry,” says Dudley, as the door bangs shut. “I didn’t mean to intrude or cause tension between you and your…” He tries to work out how best to refer to Moran, a man who tends to hang around the university a great deal for reasons that nobody can quite fathom. Moriarty has informed people that Moran is his private secretary and agent, who manages certain other business matters for him, yet this does not fully explain why the colonel seems to expect to have such unfettered access to the professor, even sometimes during his classes. “Friend,” Dudley concludes. “If you were discussing something important with him-”

    Moriarty waves this apology aside. “No matter, it was nothing important. Now, what is it I can do for you today?”

 ~

    When Dudley finally leaves the professor’s study, Moran is waiting outside, leaning back against the wall and eating a meat pie procured from a street-seller’s stall.

    “I know your game,” he says, lunging sharply at Dudley and gripping him in a large hand somewhat greasy from the pie’s pastry.

    “My game?” Dudley echoes.

    “Maybe the professor cannot see what you’re up to, but I can.”

    “Oh? And what, pray tell, is that?”

    “Acting all sweet around him, batting your eyelashes at him like some tart and togging yourself up in fancy clothes and spouting your bleedin’ formulae at him, and your fancy words, like you think you’re as clever as he is. Well let me tell you something, sonny, you ain’t. You’re nothing next to him and he wouldn’t even-”

    “Colonel Moran, unhand my student at once!” Moriarty commands.

    As obedient as Moran is, he is not afraid of Moriarty. Thus his reaction to this order is perfectly slow and deliberate as he releases his grasp on Dudley’s jacket and carefully smoothes it back down. “Back off him!” he says in a low growl, before finally taking a step away from the boy.

    Dudley hurriedly scurries away, leaving Moran and Moriarty to confront each other in the corridor.

     “Get in there,” Moriarty says, his voice low and cold. “And wipe that damned smirk off your face.”

    Yet Moran is still smirking as he enters the study. Moriarty locks the door behind them and glares at Moran, who merely takes another nonchalant bite of his pie.

    “What on earth was the meaning of that display?” the professor demands.

    “Nothing,” Moran answers sullenly after swallowing.

    “You are jealous?”

    “I’m surprised you even noticed.” Moran pops the last bite of the pie into his mouth.

    “How could I fail to notice you threatening my student outside my own study?”

    Moran makes no response to this save to chew rather loudly.

    “You do not own me, Moran; you cannot presume to dictate my behaviour and who I associate with.”

    Moran swallows again, then says, “No Professor, I cannot, yet I had been led to believe still, sir, that as I am yours that you are mine. Owned not like some object, not like some slave, but still, that we belong to each other.”

    Such talk seems strange coming from Moran’s mouth now, even though in their most private moments such things have been implied often, even spoken aloud on rare occasions.

    “Colonel,” Moriarty says, with a sigh. “Moran, do you really believe that Master Dudley is any threat to you?”

    “To me, sir? No. To you, however…”

    “Explain yourself.”

     Exasperated, Moran runs a hand through his hair. “You really can’t see it, can you? How he fawns over you; he _flirts_ with you; he takes every opportunity to get close to you, to brush his body against yours, or his hand against your own. He wants to _fuck_ you – pardon my language, sir. Maybe he is even… _in love_ with you, and you do not discourage him.”

    “I do not encourage him!” Moriarty snaps. “Not in the manner you imply.”

    “I don’t reckon you need to, in that manner. You praise him, you listen to his ideas, you pay him more attention than most.”

    “You are suggesting I am leading him to believe that…?”

    “That you feel as he does? Very likely, sir.”

    “Regardless of that…” Moriarty hesitates for a moment, from which it is apparent that he has not truly grasped at the extent of Dudley’s infatuation with him before. “Regardless, I would not lie with him, nor with any student. I will have words with him and discourage any fanciful ideas that he may have taken into his head.” Moriarty holds out his arms to Moran, beckoning him close. “Moran, you must understand that I have no such interest in any of my students.”

    It might be a trap, allowing the professor to draw him close only to strike him for his impudence, yet Moran slinks over to him anyway. “I know that,” he says. “I do know that.”

    “Then why so much jealousy, pet?” Instead of striking him, Moriarty lightly strokes Moran’s cheek. He could condemn his lover for his behaviour but understanding its true cause seems far more pressing.

    “Because you still look at him like… like you think he’s wonderful; like he’s perfect. Like he’s…” Moran grits his teeth.

    “Better than you?” Moriarty finishes, when Moran cannot.

    Moran twists his face away, and he sighs. “I’m not clever like him; don’t understand even half of what you talk about, Professor – all this mathematical stuff; your theorems; your precious asteroids; all your numbers and your equations and your grand ideas, but he does. He gets it. He gets all of it, but I don’t”

    “And you think that makes him better than you, do you?”

    “Not better, but… more on your level. You wouldn’t send him running errands for you, now would you?”

    “Sebastian.” Moriarty turns Moran’s face back and now gently brushes a few pastry crumbs from Moran’s beard. “I send you ‘running errands’ as you so quaintly put it because I trust you with my correspondence, or with items of great importance – you, Moran, nobody else.”

    “But he’s smarter than me.”

    “Intelligence is a thoroughly subjective concept,” Moriarty says dismissively. Initially the sight of Moran terrorising his student had caused anger to flare within Moriarty but now, seeing Moran’s hangdog expression and hearing him speak so, that fury has gone, replaced by a surge of affection. He did not think Moran could be so insecure but for him to display such insecurity before the professor… it is actually rather endearing. “Dudley may understand higher mathematics but could he survive in the depths of the jungle, or the city slums? Could he save himself and other men in the midst of a battle? No Moran, he could not.”

    “Don’t need to do all that, does he; he has his good, doting family, a rich papa to throw money at him,” Moran continues with sneering disdain, yet the professor senses this is not entirely directed towards young Dudley any more. “Gets everything handed to him on a bleedin’ silver platter.”

    “And you think that makes him interest me, do you?” Moriarty asks with a wry smile. “Moran, I was not handed everything on any silver platter any more than you were. Those who do experience such privilege tend to rapidly become vacuous. Dudley is a spoilt child, clever enough, but one whom I doubt very much will ever achieve greatness. He will most likely grow up to lead a boring existence married to a boring woman and fathering boring little children, whereas you and I… well our lives are hardly boring, now are they?” The professor leans forward and kisses Moran lightly, faintly tasting beef gravy on his lips. “Dudley is of no interest to me save as a student. _You_ , however, interest me in a great many ways.” He holds Moran closer now, gently caressing his hips through his clothing. Somewhat pacified, Moran leans into his embrace, resting his face against the professor’s cheek. “I don’t _want_ someone exactly like me as my companion.”

    Indeed it is precisely because Moran is vastly different to him that Moriarty finds him so appealing – coarser in his speech and behaviour, rougher around the edges, more practical rather than intellectual, Moran is able to look at matters from a thoroughly different perspective, something which has proved to be invaluable to Moriarty time and time again. Nor does he fawn over Moriarty. Moran’s loyalty is seemingly beyond question yet he is no spineless sycophant; he is not afraid to tell Moriarty that his plans are deeply flawed if he believes that to be so. The professor enjoys Moran’s sensual side too – his craving for intimate contact; the manner in which he can be so easily coaxed into a state of arousal; his yearning to submit and to be dominated by Moriarty whilst still always retaining his core strength of character. With Moran and Moran alone Moriarty feels able to give full release to his most private needs and desires, venting both his physical urges and his more cerebral ones, his frustrations, his anger, his cravings to thoroughly control and subjugate a partner but always in a safe manner, without the risk of exposure or condemnation (and even, perhaps, of pushing things that bit too far) that would be inherent in any such encounters with strangers or molly boys.

    Few could even come close to matching the colonel and Moriarty doubts very much that he could ever find another who fits with him as perfectly as Moran does. It is not though necessarily always easy to convince Moran of this for he is a man who has experienced much rejection in his past and yes, Moriarty supposes now that he has rather been neglecting his lover of late.

    “Nobody else can hold a candle to you, Sebastian,” he tells him. “So no more threatening my students, all right? You will make yourself most unwelcome around here if you make a regular habit of that.”

   “Right sir,” Moran says against Moriarty’s neck.

   “I will address Dudley myself on the topic of his interest in me.”

    “Right sir.”

    “And perhaps, tomorrow night, we might dine out together?” Moriarty presses Moran back a little, so that he may look into his face now. “Perhaps at Romano’s?”

    Moran manages a small fleeting smile. “Yes sir, I’d like that.”

    “And after we dine…” Moriarty inclines his head to kiss Moran’s throat, under the curve of his jaw, until he puts his mouth close to Moran’s ear to say: “Perhaps then we might spend a few hours indulging in some rather more _private_ activities.”

    Now Moran grins more broadly. “I would certainly like that, Professor,” he says. “I would like that very much.”


End file.
